The light had faded, only glimmers of twilight left. But the map was not dim. It glowed with a silvery, shimmering light.

“It’s like… starlight,” his mother whispered. “Moonlight.”

“By the gods,” whispered Vonen.

Looking closer now, he saw the most fascinating thing of all. There had been parts of characters missing. The bottom half of the map was now littered with new and transformed characters that glowed only in starlight, with no ink beneath. He had read the map in the darkness before, and it had never glistened like this.

But he’d never tried outside. Under the night sky.

“A map made with star magic. Very rare indeed,” Beneral muttered.

“Star magic? You’re sure?” Aven asked. The lord nodded. Star magic was a type of air magic—specific, rare, and, in some places, forbidden.

“What does it say?” his mother asked.

“Well, this top part is mostly a standard map of the sky. But you see here—much of this section is written only in the starlight. I couldn’t read it till now! I don’t know what any of it says. Yet.”

New characters lit up with each moment that passed. They sat in silence for a while, watching the letters glimmer and fade into view. Aven looked up. Only a few of the brightest stars were shining. There were many more yet to come out. It had not taken much starlight to activate the map.

He eyed Casel as they watched. At first, there were no marks next to her. Every other star seemed to fill in first. Then one appeared. Moments later, another.

“These,” he said, jabbing his finger at the ones near Casel. “Can any of you make out what those mean?”

They all shook their heads. He gritted his teeth. Another character appeared.

“We can’t stay much longer, Aven,” his mother said. “I will talk to Teron. And we’ll look in the book for answers about this map. And we can try to find what this means, or a translation. Is it Serabain?”

“I think so,” he replied. “Try this word. And these.” He pointed at those near Casel, and another word in the bottom portion of the map directly below Casel.

“Got it,” said Beneral. “We must go, my lady. I’m aiding Vonen, but his energy is fading.”

She nodded. “Be safe, my son.” And for a moment, she placed her hand over his. He felt nothing physically, but the gesture made his heart ache. For a moment, he longed to hug her, kiss her cheek, assure her somehow.

He couldn’t. He swallowed. This was the path he had chosen.

She stood as if preparing to physically leave.

“I will be safe, Mother. Don’t worry. It will be okay.” Ridiculous words, but it was all he could say.

“If we find something, we’ll watch for a chance to tell you.” He nodded. “If we don’t, well, gods be with you, Aven.”

And then she was gone.

He sat there for quite some time in the darkness, feeling the loss of her presence beside him, wondering if he’d ever be in the same room with her again. He watched as more characters faded into view. The earliest ones shone brighter as time passed.

Soon, the whole map was filled. Its maker had tried to cram tomes’ worth of knowledge onto a single sheet. He stared at the words near Casel. More characters had appeared by each, and whole words had solidified since his mother and her escorts had left him. Had they seen enough to go on? He hoped so because all the new characters were foreign to him.

There was one word near Casel that he could have added himself—freedom. But what was the word beside it? He tried to shrug off the crick forming in his shoulders and stared harder at the cryptic glyphs, as if glaring would tell him what he needed to know.

11

New Secrets

Miara awoke. The pain in her head competed with the pain in her shoulder. But the pain was secondary to the binding haunting her dreams—tugging at her—demanding. She had just enough strength to finally let it move her.

She did not know where Aven was. He had to be gone.

For a while she simply lay still, partway awake but too weak to even open her eyes.

She had to find him. Her shoulder ached, burned, urged her on. She struggled to sit up.

The tent flap opened. A woman peered in, disappeared, then reappeared with a bowl and a cup filled to the brim. Miara accepted them gratefully.

Then the woman was gone before she could ask about her captive. Eating the savory stew consumed nearly all her strength, and she lay back down again. Sleep took her in spite of the nagging at the edges of her mind.

She did not know how long she slept. The next time she woke, she was determined to find Aven. The pain in her head had lessened, but her brand’s insistence had only increased. She had to ease it, or it would drive her mad. And she wanted to see his face, make sure he was okay.

She emerged from her tent into darkness. There was nothing nearby but other tents. A hundred paces away, people swirled around three boisterous fire circles, two small and one large. She studied the dramatic silhouettes, looking for his dullish blond-brown hair and sharp jaw amid the sea of dark beards and flowing curls. There was no one like the Akarian. He was not there.

Her shoulder stabbed at her suddenly, so intensely that she stumbled, then fell to one knee.

She was not alone. Someone close by gasped and came to help her. With their hands on her, the pain in her shoulder eased. She looked up through her tangled, sweaty hair to see the brown, old man who had welcomed them.

“Are you all right?” he said. “Some food?”

She nodded. She needed to ask him about Aven—but did he know Aven’s name? What should she call him? Her thoughts whirled, and she was far too dizzy to formulate an answer.

The old man sat her by one of the smaller fire circles and put a bowl in her hand. She ate mechanically. He said nothing of Aven, and Miara didn’t ask. Certainly, it was obvious. He must be gone.

She stared into the stew bowl, shoveling food into her mouth more out of habit than desire. Gone. He was gone. That would mean she had failed. How would the Masters react? What would they do? She did not think the Dark Master would like being proven wrong.

But that was a distant worry. Her future had already been bought and sold long before she was born. Until now, she’d had the present at least. Now that, too, was gone.

And she had failed. She could fail; she couldn’t do just anything she put her mind to. Her confidence in herself had been misplaced. And much worse—until now—she’d had him.